I visit bazar still in the spring,
And notice, there's no season in a fish market...
In the month of colours,
the market is still a bit dark, men oriented, and all about blood and unpleasant smell of raw fishes.
I hurry up there, seeking exile as soon as possible,
But some voices in the semi dark, ask about my ailing baba, interrupting...

It feels good, to be asked...
To know, that he's quite missed...
I can smell goodness even in these heavy smell of dried and raw fishes...

On the way back home,
I notice blooming boganvilia,
The hood of my hoodie falls on my shoulder,
My frail ponytail comes out,
while trying to click a picture of those dark pink flowers...
I become woman again,
On the way back home...

-

I close my eyes and a wide field appears,
We all are sitting comfortably on the picnic carpet.
Boiled eggs, breads- jam, some fruits are waiting patiently.
badminton rackets are kept aside, bathing on the golden ray of 11:26 am.

Somedays, I see going for evening outing with baba on his cycle, witnessing sunset from the Gomati bridge.

Somedays, lots of a scenes like this,
Fictions and non fictions...

When I wake up,
It takes me a few minutes to get back to the reality.
I pray for baba's recovery soon.
In meal, The boiled egg reminds me of the dream.
The dream of having a peaceful life together.

-

Appreciation

No one thought twice to hurt me,
Right from I was a kid.
Pass a comment about my physical appearance, achievements, small friend circle,
And say, "You're too tough to have a group."
Pointed out my pimpled skin, hung the list of my zero achievements to the big screened wall.

I didn't know how to react to these...
So, I sat beside our window,
Chose a novel,
where a character resembling me, did excellent in her life.
I felt appreciated...

Or witness how a dandelion's pappus,
Comes to me with the blowing wind, through our window...

They didn't judge me, and, for the first time, and ever since, I was happy.

-

I woke up too early not to overthink.
Life, career, and most vulnerably
A person, I couldn't help falling in...

Until, I went to the upstairs,
Where a wide terrace awaits to hug me,
Drenched in the morning warmth of the very sun of a sun-day.

Until, the tingling leaves of a morina tree,
Adjourned to our rooftop, touch my fingers... Ensure their existence.

Until, I find a white cat isn't over his sleep yet,
And his thick tail, tired and peaceful, fell asleep next to him.

I woke up too early this mornig...
Until I felt loved, and touched, and happy.
Until, I get too amazed to overthink.

-

I'll fear our departure, for once.
I'll be anxious, afraid with hormones running mercilessly...
Type a text thousand times, in millions ways and remove,
Dial your number a hundreds and choose not to ring.

Then, all of a sudden, I'll come poised.
Calm, smiling bright like anything.

For once, I'll fear of getting drowned.
Grab the arm of one, who was pushing me to the waves...
Close my eyes in fear, scream probably.

Then, when I'll fall in the water, and chug some sandy, salty blues,
I'll come back, knowing that, how amazing it was.
The process, the fun...
I'll jump again, this time, free from anything.

I'll fear many things...
But just for once.
The first and last time ever.
So no one can make me hold my breath in fear, for long.
Neither me...

Only I have to know, how much love to breath.

-

I keep the anxieties at the upper shelf.
Too big to fit in the multi-drawered bottom.

The middle part contains the hopes, The dreams, past traumas and the roadmap of the path I've walked alone.
And both the types in the middle are neatly secluded from each other.

The date I first saw a shooting star, first glare, tender love, first hug, the blowing of dandelion pappus- all kept at the bottom of the shelf.

On weekends,
when I stand thereby, dusting the shelf and their rooms,
I find out a piece of shattered emotion each time, twisted and crooked, trying to make its space.
I wish to shuffle them somedays.
The stuffs have been there, for long.
But so well fitted they are,
I step aside, and, how perfect they seem.

-

I am trying to convince her,
that the bare minimum I provide is all that someone can have.

On Mondays, when we return  together from office,
I notice her being a li'l more timid,
as it's the first working day after the weekends.
But I never comfort her... Oh! come on. I'm not even supposed to.
She's happy that atleast we return together on that day,
as the other 4 of the days, we return seperately.
That's the rule. We need space.

On salary-days, I'll gift her something luxurious.
A wristwatch, a vanity bag, a nice pair of branded heels...
But will never leave a little letter on the centre table assuring how much I still love her,
Never cook or make a dish,
whisper a poetry in a full moon...
I never appreciate her looks,
touch her fingers randomly.

I'm convincing her that she has everything someone can have in his or her life.
And she too has slowly Started to believe it.
Now, I feel so at ease...

Call it "corruption",
but the politicians, the country-heads, the ministers...
all of them are practicing this only since the time being, "Convincing"...

-

Somedays, I want to be somebody,
Having a specific face,
Name, tie, submerged in human-scent.
A title.

Somedays, I want to have a party with ladies and gentlemen,
Who are sharing the same profession with me.
Drink whiskey or wine or a simple grape-beer alone.


But the other days...
The most of the days, I want to become an ocean.
Alluring strangers with the waves,
Storing shells and memories
Adorning beaches...

Or a storm,
to remind any Hindu, "The Shiv Tandav Stotram"
A forest,
A simple lover who'd live far away from the crowd,
Recomb his hair,
Pick a song,
hug him tight in a Cathedral Church, Temple or a mosque.

Somedays, I wanna have wines and a name.
The other days, I want to be nobody but an ocean with a lover.

-

"Damn...Love is an overhyped concept"
She laughed...
Sun was oozing on her dimples.
A thin shadow of window-frame was falling oblique on her wrist...
She looked pretty.

I nodded my head...
She laughed again,
This time, a bit louder.
"Love has so much to do, in the list of doing nothing but damages"...

I smiled,
for I knew she was broken.
A several times, in her conscious and subconscious...
Been shaken, shattered and jilted for a thousand times.

I smiled.
I knew I loved her.
She knew, I loved her.
Yet we both knew, "love is an overhyped concept."

-

Only if you meant this.
While your eyes were stuck in mine,
Glistening with poetry,
Midnight winter-moon...
Or a valley, reincarnated in preludes of a known lullaby,
Daffodils, summer...
And every single hand-note you've passed me on a coffee table...

And how those eloquent lies have filled my heart half; with flowers...
And emptiness in half,
as everytime, my subconscious knew, those were just words...

Ahhh, we all are humans afterall.
I could not certainly find a way to deny your warmth.

Only if you meant these dear.
Only if you meant.

-